


Kyrie Eleison

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [25]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A final decision is made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kyrie Eleison

**Author's Note:**

> Kyrie Eleison is Greek for Lord, have mercy.

Lancelot pushed himself as hard as he could, the two swords fighting his grip and the normal flow he felt with his guns.  
  
 _Clang!_

  
“Fuck,” he griped for the hundreth time, and bent over to pick the thing up. He was touched still that Arthur had managed to get the blades for him – that the other man had actually remembered his desire for them – but they were proving to be almost too hard for him to learn.  
  
Or maybe he was just too frustrated and angry to concentrate.  
  
Rotating his wrists again slowly, he began the practice moves that the officer - Dagonet? - in Arthur’s unit had shown him; who knew the man fought with ancient weapons as well? Small world.  
  
 _You know what we can do to him if we so chose._  
  
You wouldn’t, Guin. You love him, too.  
  
I may love him, Lancelot, but I don’t use him as a crutch. He’s just a person. He’s no one’s savior – matter of fact, he’s caused you a world of hurt, hasn’t he?  
  
He saved me, you bitch. He dragged me up from the hell I had buried myself in. Do you really want to turn out like Roland? To be cold hearted, never letting anyone in? To be responsible for the deaths of nameless people? Do you remember what I was like when I sat in that chair?  
  
Grunting, Lancelot spun his swords in an arc over his head in a move that was supposed to end with him holding both blades at waist height; instead, one ended up by his ribs, and the other fell to the floor with a reverberating crash.  
  
“Christ!”  
  
He swore under his breath, picking up the blade and examining it for nicks. Satisfied it was alright, he continued his practice.  
  
 _I remember cleaning you up, fixing your messes. You shouldn’t have ever been here, Lancelot. You’re too involved, too open. This is a business – an old, family business. If I’m the only one in the family who sees it that way, so be it. But I don’t want you fucking it up for me just because your lover happens to be a cop. A really famous cop at that._  
  
God damn it, Guin. How long have we known him? He’s been like family to us. Like blood. And you want me to ignore that? To forget the things he’s done for both of us? You are like Roland.  
  
Shaking the sweat out of his eyes, Lance gritted his teeth and kept at it, his bare feet sliding slightly on the wooden floor of the basement practice room.  
  
 _The things he did for us? Do you mean the things he did for you, including me because I’m your sister? He never loved me, Lancelot. Not like he does you. Don’t tell me you still think about that boy that went to college with us. Don’t tell me you still love him because he gave you your first meaningful lay._  
  
He should have hit Guin for that. Arthur would have, had someone been speaking like that about Lancelot.  
  
His hands trembling, he finally stopped, moving to the bench that ran along the side wall of the room. He set his blades down, giving himself over to remembering the rest of the conversation.  
  
 _Fuck you, Guinevere. Despite what you’re saying I know you love him. How can you not? He’s Arthur._  
  
She had laughed, bitterly and loud.  
  
 _This isn’t some reincarnation of Camelot, brother dear. He’s just a man. And you and I are the owners of a big fortune and a company that could be the most successful business around if you keep your love affairs out of it. I need you to keep Arthur out of this. If you don’t, like I said, you know the consequences._  
  
He knows something’s going on whether I tell him or not, Guinny. He knows me too well. He can read my moods like a book –  
  
Then stay away from him! Jesus. Are you such a whore that you can’t do without fucking him for a few days –  
  
Lance had hit her then. She had stopped, her hand going to her cheek, where his red palm print showed.  
  
 _It’s nothing to do with that. I love him, Guinevere. I owe him everything. He is my life. Without him in it, there’s no point in living, you see?_  
  
Then lie, cheat, or do whatever you have to do to get this done, brother, or he won’t be in it. He knows you so well that he can read you? You’re doing this for me, you’ve already agreed. ‘One favor for my favorite sister’ turned you into an errand boy, my dear. Keep your nosy cop out of this.  
  
Jesus, Lance. Your obsession with him may get us both in trouble – and I’m not having that. One way or another.  
  
Now get out of my office.  
  
She had pushed him bodily out of the large room, slamming the door so hard the pictures on the walls rattled.  
  
*  
  
The locker room had a few people in it; most of them nodded to Lance, then left him alone. He had already locked his swords away with the special weapons that only a few officers had access to, and as he stowed his other gear, he found his head wouldn’t stop throbbing and his wrists ached more so than normal.  
  
“Fucking swords. How can they possibly be more difficult than shooting?” he grumbled to himself as he made his way to the shower, stripping off quickly and stepping in. He knew why they were more difficult – they were more physical and required more precision. He just didn’t want to admit that something that involved weapons was hard for him to learn. He had been solid and graceful with almost all the other forms of fighting he had picked up at the academy. For one to work against him so hard – it was entirely too frustrating.  
  
“Arthur would have been able to do this in days,” he muttered, scrubbing his body angrily as he frowned. The thought really wasn’t true, but Lance was past the mood for caring if he was being truthful to himself.  
  
God damn his sister. One “favor” had turned into three, then five, then … he had stopped counting after a while. Not like she didn’t appreciate it, or help him when he infrequently asked for things (the England trip being a good example), but fucking hell, he hated owing her. He hated it.  
  
He hated not telling Arthur what was going on even more.  
  
“Christ,” he sighed, rotating his wrists under the hot water, rubbing at them. The damn swords were heavy and exercised tendons he hadn’t known he’d had til he’d picked the blades up.  
  
His eyes drifting closed, he massaged his wrists and leant forward so the water was pounding at his back.  
  
 _You know what we can do to him._  
  
Keep your nosy cop out of this.  
  
I wanted to tell you the truth. I thought we always said no lies between us.  
  
I’ve always been there. You just couldn’t see me…see me now.  
  
Fuck, Arthur, I can’t see anything else.  
  
The wall of the shower made a cracking noise with the strength of Lancelot’s punch. Only by some force of sheer luck had Arthur not seen everything he’d been doing for Guin. For the family, for the company. Arthur hadn’t questioned Lance booking the England trip, or the sudden influx of small gifts or the many times they’d been out to eat.  
  
Cops didn’t live like that.  
  
Despite the few other men in the showers and the locker room, Lance allowed one raw sob to break free before he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and bit his knuckles til the urge to cry had passed.  
  
His time in his father’s chair passed before him – the things he’d done, the people who’d died because of decisions he’d made, the payments he’d taken, the drugs, the women and men, the blood and neverending, stupid violence.  
  
And now this – this time, the things he’d done for Guinevere, the errands and beatings he’d inflicted on people who were “enemies” of the Benoit family –  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
“Benoit! You alright?”  
  
Head jerking up, Lance cleared his throat before answering. “Yeah. Just hit my elbow on the wall.”  _Lame._  
  
“Well, shit, pretty boy, don’t go getting injured. We need you tomorrow,” one of the men called; Lance made some noise in response as the other officers drifted out of the locker room. He knew they were teasing, but forgot their comments as he was quickly left alone in the steam of the showers.  
  
There was no way in hell he was getting Arthur involved in what he was doing. Ever the noble, sanctimonious fool, Arthur would surely try and help Lancelot again, except this time he’d do it without Lance asking or his say so.  
  
And then Arthur would end up dead, and Lancelot’s father’s predictions about Lancelot’s life would all be proven true, and Lance just didn’t think he could live with that.  
  
No, he’d keep on doing what he had been doing – “helping” Guin, working for the cops, and loving Arthur. He was a consummate actor – the other man would never know a thing. He’d just have to be careful that stories didn’t start flying around the department again.  
  
Yeah, that would work. He could do this. He would do a few more jobs for Guinevere, settle up with her, then convince Arthur that they would be a lot happier in a different city, far away from the corrupting influence of Los Angeles and his family.  
  
He felt a twinge of guilt at the idea of using his addiction to his family as a motivator to get Arthur to leave LA, but he really didn’t care. He would convince the other man. It would have to work.  
  
The alternative was not acceptible to Lance. The only alternative he would accept was the one  _he_  would control.  
  
If it looked like that was the only way to go, he would start rumors himself. He would allow Arthur to catch him.  
  
He would allow Arthur to catch him, and in so doing, he would save Arthur.

*

The sun had set on the mountains, and it still left fiery trails of orange and yellow in the sky.  Arthur leant against the railing of the balcony and tried not to think on anything in particular - it was a losing battle, as usual.  Images of Lance and the conflicting stories he’d heard a few months ago warred in his mind, despite the beer he’d drunk to keep them out. He had another in his hand, but the thing had gotten too warm to be good.

He refused to even ask Lance again about the possibility that the younger man was seeing his family again. He knew he’d been to see Guin a few times – that was normal. A brother and sister needed to stay close, especially with none of their other family around. Arthur couldn’t fault them that. He had no family left save Lance, really, so he understood. He tried to.

But every time Lance told him he was going to the store, or to weapons practice, or hell, even when the younger man was just going to his own apartment for a while, Arthur’s suspiciousness niggled at him until he couldn’t take it, and he had to either exercise until he was too tired to think, or do mindless things like housework or clean his bike until the ideas went away. He would not question Lance again. Not again. He trusted Lance. With his whole self, his soul, his heart, his everything.

Lance knew that – he wouldn’t lie to Arthur about something so large as doing things for Guinevere. Not when he knew what that would mean to their relationship.

God. Fucking hell, he wondered how long he could delude himself into thinking that.

The door from inside banged shut, and the blinds that covered the sliding glass that lead to the balcony blew slightly from the force. Arthur remained where he was; about five minutes elapsed and Lance appeared at his elbow. The younger man smelled of shampoo and fir scented soap; Arthur suddenly flashed on that spa they had gone to right after Arthur had graduated from college, the Japanese one in Santa Fe. He hadn’t realized Lance was still using stuff from the place –

“…and then I twisted my wrist wrong and dropped the damn thing. Again. Hello? Castus?”

Arthur shook his head and took a sip of his lukewarm beer. “Sorry, Lance. You were saying?”

Lancelot eyed him slantedly then allowed his gaze to shift back to the remaining light from the sun as well. “I was just saying that those damn blades are harder than I had thought they’d be.”

Arthur allowed himself to shift focus to Lance; the other man was watching the sky. He smiled slightly. “You say that about every new form of weaponry you study.” He drank more of his beer and continued to watch Lancelot. He found lately once he got to studying the other man, he found it hard to tear himself away from doing it.

He knew the curly hair, the angular features, the large nose and dark eyes better than he knew himself. And yet he seemed to find something he loved more each time he looked at Lancelot.

He wanted to scream and bash his head against the iron bars of the balcony. He should have known, known from experience that pure, blinding, clean love always came with a price. Knowing someone like he _knew_ the other man always came with a price.

“Arthur?”

He cleared his throat and realized Lance was looking at him. Arthur’s hand on the beer shook; he took a last sip and moved unsteadily to the wooden bench he’d installed a few weeks previous.

He kept his eyes on the horizon. Lancelot stared after him, then followed, planting himself firmly on Arthur’s lap. Arthur started slightly and met Lancelot’s gaze.

His lips parted and he began to say something, but Lance raised a hand and ran his thumb softly over Arthur’s mouth, the rough skin of Arthur’s lips dragging against the other man’s finger. Arthur sighed and allowed Lancelot’s touch to sweep him away. Again.

Neither spoke. The orange sky was beginning to purple, the mountains in the distance disappearing with the light. The air was crisp, a perfect LA night.

All the words Lance had planned to say to convince Arthur to leave the town fled his normally clever tongue as he stared into Arthur’s hazy green eyes. The other man looked exhausted, lately all the time. Lance moved his fingers from Arthur’s lips to his cheeks and jaw line, exploring the angles of the other man’s face as if he’d never felt or seen them before. Arthur’s lids fluttered shut as Lancelot caressed him lightly, Arthur’s hand resting at the small of Lancelot’s back.

A few minute trembles escaped Arthur’s hand, but he gradually relaxed as Lancelot allowed his fingers to gently draw the pain from Arthur’s face. Lance wasn’t sure what was wrong on the surface, but inside –

he knew. He knew Arthur could tell something was going on, and no matter the amount of acting or coaxing, he wouldn’t be able to convince Arthur that everything was normal.

Their little trip overseas had been the last time they’d be able to hide from what they had made of themselves and their lives. Arthur would never let anything go – and Lancelot could really only lie and twist the truth for so long without breaking. He could only be with Arthur for so long while making things up and not feel like the whole world was wrong. The other man was the only person who ever had that effect on him. Arthur was the only person Lancelot could be Lancelot with – and he was the only person who could make Lance feel like the lowest scum of the earth when he wasn’t. Like he had wasted his life.

Because of the man next to him, Lancelot had done something with his life. Maybe not as much as he could have, but he hadn’t ended up totally the way his father had expected. And that was something after all.

Lancelot blinked as that revelation washed over him. He stilled his hand momentarily, head cocking to the side.

_Oh, wow._

And in that instant, that small realization chose the left fork instead of the right for him. Or the right instead of the left. Whichever – the choice had been made for him.

He felt slightly euphoric and dizzy – but better than he had in months. He wouldn’t have to lie to Arthur much longer. He’d plant those rumors, and he’d go on doing things for Guin.

And in turn, he’d allow Arthur to live safely. He’d do what he hadn’t ever thought he’d be brave enough to do.

Arthur would be safe, and alive, and Lancelot would be free.

He leant forward and sealed his lips over Arthur’s, the kiss rapidly turning heated. His fingers sunk into Arthur’s hair and a small moan escaped him. Rubbing his hands in small circles on the other man’s head, he slanted his own head so he could get closer, deeper, inside.

Arthur broke the kiss to breathe; his glazed eyes met Lance’s. “What?” he managed before Lance kissed him again, this time backing away to speak against Arthur’s mouth.

“Upstairs.”

Arthur didn’t reply; he stood rapidly and moved with Lance through the loft doors, his hands trying to undress the younger man as they walked and attempted to keep their lips attached at the same time.

Fumbling up the stairs, Lancelot suceeded in getting Arthur’s shirt and belt off, then tripped at the landing halfway up, knocking Arthur over as well. He sought the wet heat of Arthur’s mouth and fed a muffled groan to Arthur, whose quick work on Lance’s clothing had gotten him down to just his uncommonly seen boxers.

Sitting astride the older man, he ground against Arthur’s groin, the reaction that elicited making the first real smile in a while appear on Lancelot’s face.

“Not – here,” Arthur gasped, “bed.”

Lance managed to nod agreement, stumbling to his feet as Arthur staggered up behind him. They both began to laugh as they raced up the remaining half flight, neither of them bothering with lights or anything else.

Arthur was lying over Lance's body in a second, pushing the other man to the bed and covering Lance's mouth with his own again. He pushed his tongue inside, nursing at the other man’s flesh, not exactly sure where this had come from, but not caring.

“Arth – Arthur,” Lance gritted out, getting a hand between the two of them, “wait. Slow down.” He shoved against Arthur and sat up, Arthur following suit, his legs bent at the knees over the edge of the bed.

“What? Why?” Arthur answered, confused. “You – I thought you wanted this.” His breathing was racing as fast as his heartbeat, which thudded so loudly he could feel it in his ears.

“I do. Just – slow down. And stay put.”

Lance moved quickly, kneeling at Arthur’s feet. He tugged at Arthur’s shoes, flinging them to the corner, where they thudded against the wall with a wince inducing crash. Lancelot looked at Arthur apologetically, but Arthur merely laughed and ran a hand through Lance’s hair. “It’s okay,” he whispered, almost conspiratorily, “I have stuff to patch holes with.”

Lancelot returned the laugh and tugged at Arthur’s trousers, the light material sliding over the other man’s slim hips easily, Arthur’s boxers coming with them. Pushing Arthur to his back, Lance knee walked closer so he was at the edge of the bed, situated comfortably between Arthur’s thighs. His hands cupped the other man’s face gently, softly, and Arthur almost asked Lancelot to explain his expression – love, pain, desire all warring with one another – but Lance blinked and the confusion was gone.

“I love you,” he told Arthur in a tone so quiet Arthur barely heard him.

All the same, it was as good to hear those words coming from Lancelot’s mouth as it had been the first time. Arthur was surprised to feel tears burn behind his eyes.

“Lance,” he began, but was shushed by a finger against his lips. “Let me love you,” Lancelot said, his hands drawing down Arthur’s arms, his fingers twining with Arthur’s momentarily, before moving to the older man’s stomach. He pressed his mouth against the taut muscles there, delighting in the fact that they jumped at his touch.

Hands on Arthur’s hips, Lancelot trailed his lips down Arthur’s belly, following the line of dark hair that lead to his groin. Arthur’s flesh was hard and dark red from the flush of blood that had rushed to it; Lance contemplated it before licking around the other man’s cock, touching his inner thigh instead.

Arthur released a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his hand threading into Lance's curly hair. “Mmm,” he made a nonsensical pleasure noise at the touches on his body. His thoughts turned to the first time they had done this, how surprised he had been that he hadn’t seen what had been right in front of his face. How much love he had almost missed.

His head tipped back and the tendons in his neck stood out as Lancelot’s mouth engulfed him in wet heat, all coherent thought flying out the window as his nerves and blood seemed concentrated on his cock only.

  
Arthur stared at the ceiling and tried not thrust into the other man’s mouth – he didn’t want to choke him; besides, usually if he waited –

“Oh my god,” he breathed as Lancelot’s mouth sunk to the base of his cock. A few more times like that – and he tipped over the edge, stars exploding behind his eyes and his hands clutching at his sheets.

Lance rose to his feet, swallowing roughly, and curled on his side next to Arthur. He ran a slow hand down Arthur’s arm as the other man came down from his pleasure high. When Arthur sighed and turned toward him, Lance pressed his lips to Arthur’s, lingering so the other man could taste himself and Lancelot, together.

Lancelot pulled back, and watched Arthur’s hazy green eyes focus somewhat better. He smiled contently, and Lance laughed at the expression. “Satisfactory, I take it?”

“Oh yes,” Arthur answered, arm going out to pull Lance closer to him. He kissed the younger man again. “But too quick.”

Laughing again, Lance nuzzled into Arthur’s heat. It was comforting and familiar, and his skin on Arthur’s made him feel like he was _home._

Yes. He’d made the right decision.

“We can fix that in a bit,” he whispered in reply. “Your turn, anyway.”

*

The range was beginning to feel a bit too much like a second home, and Arthur decided since it was a Friday night, he would call it quits a little earlier than normal and jump on the train home. He would call Lance, they could have some wine on the deck, and just be.

The other man had had a busy two months too, as Cragen had been keeping him busy with assignments and strange duties that for some reason the other captain felt only Lance was capable of. Arthur shook his head at the extreme amount of bouldering and climbing walls Lancelot had been doing, smiling to himself at the fact that every time the other man caught sight of his butt or thighs in a mirror he groaned at the bruises from his harness.

He didn’t seem to mind the unexpected side effect of his upper body getting bulkier, however. Arthur couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Lancelot’s shoulders, and his back…well, that thought was best saved for when he had more private time.

The only disturbing thing was the rumors had started up again. Arthur would walk by the smoking area, or through the squad room, and all of the detectives seemed to be whispering, or huddled up in conversations they didn’t want him to hear. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it except for the fact that he’d heard some stories from other squads.

That was never good. Inter-departmental rumors happened – but when they had become larger than that, Arthur had begun worrying again.

He had the niggling idea to question some of the people he’d accidentally heard things from, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to give it some time – some time for things to die down. Most of the other officers and detectives knew Lance’s background, so he wasn’t surprised that there had been some stories going around.

What he was surprised at was the vehemence and absolute seriousness this time. The few times he’d heard things in passing before, the tales had been told with laughter and some good natured ribbing. That’s how those things usually were.

This time, the secrecy and lack of fun involved worried him. It worried him badly. He tried to not let it show, but –

“Captain?”

Arthur snapped back to the present and focused on one of his officers, a blond named McAllen. “Yes, officer?” he answered, blinking and moving to the stairwell so he could hear the other man over the noise from the firing range.

“Message for you.” The officer handed him a small pink slip of paper and left before Arthur could say anything else. Holstering his gun, he moved out of the room completely, letting the door shut behind him as he opened the note.

_Stories true.  
Will call tomorrow with some info you might want._

“What the hell?”

Arthur looked around for McAllen, walking quickly to the end of the hall, just catching sight of the blond as he made his way out of the building that housed the range.

“Officer!” he shouted, and McAllen turned, waiting for Arthur to catch him up. “Captain?” he asked, confusion evident in his face. Arthur immediately knew this man had nothing to do with the note.

  
“Who left this?”

McAllen shrugged. “Found it on your desk, thought you might need it. It’s on that pink “urgent” paper,” he pointed out, trying to help. Arthur nodded, his eyes on the paper still. “Thank you, officer,” he said distractedly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

McAllen nodded, then moved off toward his car after he was sure that his captain didn’t need anything else.

Arthur stared at the paper as the words blurred and shifted beneath his eyes. “Stories true…some info you might want,” he read aloud.

What the fuck was this?

A loud scrabbling made his head rise; two squirrels were trying to claim victory over the last nut of the season. Arthur watched as they fought it out, the larger one finally chittering in triumph as it knocked the smaller one off the branch, as the smaller one in turn fluffed its tail out in anger and swaggered away.

Arthur felt as if he should laugh, but all he could do was stare blankly after the animal, note in his hand fluttering to the ground in a flash of fuscia.

*

The door banged against the wall as Arthur pushed it open with his foot; his mouth held papers and his hands held two large espressos. The echoing thud of the stereo wafted through the loft, telling him he wouldn’t have to call Lance – the other man was already there, as Arthur had hoped.

“Lance!” he yelled, which came out more like “mmmnnce!” but somehow Lancelot heard him, and the volume on the song was turned down. Lance appeared from around the corner, sweaty and disheveled, wearing cotton workout pants. He moved toward Arthur, taking one of the coffees from him, and the paper from Arthur’s mouth.

“Thanks,” Arthur said after licking his dry lips. He set his briefcase down and followed the other man to the kitchen. Lancelot dropped the papers on the table, then turned the water on in the sink, leaning forward to splash his face and neck with wetness.

Arthur took a large pull on his espresso, and then lowered the cup, watching as Lance washed some of his sweat off. The younger man patted his face with a towel that had been tucked into his waistband, and turned to Arthur, smile on his face until he got a glimpse of Arthur’s expression.

“What?”

Arthur’s eyes met Lancelot’s. His fingers scrabbled for the pink paper that McAllen had given him earlier, and he slapped it down on the counter.

Lance cocked his head, then picked the note up. He read it, then lowered his hand to stare at Arthur again.

“I say again, what? What is this?”

“It’s a message one of my officers gave me today,” Arthur answered finally. He took another sip of his coffee, and moved a little closer to Lance. “Do you understand it?”

The younger man’s brows drew together. “No,” he said, a small laugh snorting out of his nose. “Am I supposed to?”

_Checkmate. Thank God._

“Lancelot, surely you’re not that out of the loop,” Arthur said, forgetting and using Lance’s full name. At this point he didn’t care. He took another step forward so he was standing within Lance’s reach, coffee forgotten as well. “You know how people talk. We’ve had this conversation before. Recently.”

Lance shrugged, and downed his drink. “If this is about those rumors about me, sure, I’ve heard some stuff,” he admitted, “but I told you, Arthur, I’m just seeing Guin for fun. She’s the only family I have left.”

 _Come on, Arthur, be yourself. Don’t believe me_.

“For fun? Lancelot. Stories like this could get you kicked off the department! You could lose your job, your money, hell, you could get stuck back in the spotlight again. Is that what you want?”

Lance tried not to smile; if he did, Arthur would be angrier than Lance wanted him to be. Predictable, noble, amazingly wonderful Arthur. Lance thought again that he had made that right decision.

For once in his miserable life. Thank God.

“No, of course not, Arthur,” Lance answered, crossing his arms. “I really don’t think it’s as serious as all that – ”

Arthur’s face purpled and he took the remaining step between he and Lancelot. “Not serious??? Lancelot, I’m talking about your future here! What about everything you’ve done to succeed? All that fighting and working and change – what was it all for, if not for the reward of freedom? Freedom from your past, freedom from your family, freedom from judgement? Freedom to be yourself, to chose your own destiny?”

Arthur breathed harshly as his eyes locked with Lance’s. The other man just didn’t get it. How could he not? He was the one who had chosen to change. Why did he suddenly not care?

Arthur’s eyes burned and he dropped his head. “I don’t understand you,” he whispered, his voice cracking as the tears fell. “…and that scares me more than anything I could imagine.”

  
Lance’s heart twisted and shattered at Arthur’s words. He had known this wasn’t going to be easy, but he had hoped Arthur would follow his plan without them having to have this talk. He slid close to Arthur, his hands cupping the older man’s wet cheeks. Forcing Arthur to raise his head, Lancelot breathed a trembling sigh and touched his forehead to Arthur’s.

“I know that you love me,” he whispered, “and I hope you know I love you more than my own life. But you aren’t inside me – in my skin, and you can’t know everything. You just can’t, my love. I adore you for trying,” Lance went on as Arthur tried to speak. “I love you, Arthur. But I am still me – still Lancelot Benoit – and you can’t be me, no matter how hard you want to, if only to protect me. I make my own decisions, I live my own life. I do stupid things. I have to hope I’ve done a few good things, too,” he laughed softly, “like being with you. So let me do this – let me be myself, no strings. Don’t live for me. Don’t throw yourself away for me. You’re better than that – and the world, me especially, needs you around to pick us up when we’ve fallen.”

Arthur still wept silently, but listened intently. Lance smiled at him gently, then pressed his lips to Arthur’s, still cradling the other man’s head in his hands. A sob broke free from Arthur then, but he stilled, and kissed back.

“Let me see Guin, live my life, and be satisfied with it. How could I not be? You’re in it.”

Arthur laughed through his tears, arms going ‘round Lancelot, folding the other man into his chest in a crushing embrace.

Lance buried his face in Arthur’s neck and just breathed. “Stop worrying about me. Please, Arthur. Stop worrying, and stop living for me.”

Arthur didn’t answer. He couldn’t, because what would come out of his mouth would be a lie no matter what he said.

*

The following morning the two men got ready in relatively comfortable silence. They ate, read the paper, showered, got dressed, and as Lancelot stood at the door waiting for Arthur to grab some last minute thing, he felt lighter and more bouyant than he ever remembered feeling. He had a meeting scheduled for that afternoon – in some nasty warehouse he was sure Arthur could find easily – and then, he’d be done. It would be finished, and the tight bands constricting his chest would loosen, and Arthur – Arthur’d be free.

He wasn’t sure if he’d see the loft again, so he took a look around, and smiled as Arthur scurried toward him, apologizing for his lateness. They both exited and Arthur locked the door behind them.

“Train?” he asked breathlessly. Lance nodded. “I like it. You can see the water.”

“True,” Arthur agreed, smiling. “Today’s really clear, too. Should be able to see almost all the way to Japan.”

Lancelot laughed. “My vision’s not quite that good, Arthur.”

They walked down the steps and headed toward the train station, Lancelot allowing his hand to slip into Arthur’s momentarily and squeeze. The other man looked at their joined hands, then at Lancelot’s face.

  
He could say a million things, or he could say nothing.

He chose nothing – merely leaning in and kissing the other man softly, sweetly – finally.

Lance locked his gaze with Arthur as the older man pulled away. He tugged on their twined fingers. “Train’s waiting,” he said quietly, the corners of his mouth pulling upward.

“It is,” Arthur agreed, but still they stood there, watching each other, reluctant to move. At last Lance dropped Arthur’s hand, and walked on, hastily wiping his eyes with his shirttail.

_Don’t fucking back down._

He mounted the stairs two at a time as Arthur followed, his shoes making a clacking noise on the iron steps.

They barely made the train, Lance finding two seats together facing west. They sat quietly, their bodies rocking in time with the monorail.

Their hands wrapped together again.

Lance smiled as the train passed the Venice station. He had been right. He could see the water from the train – and it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long time.

~end.

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by the Mister Mister song.
> 
> The wind blows hard against this mountainside,  
> across the sea into my soul.  
> It reaches in to where I cannot hide, setting my feet upon the road.  
> My heart is old, it holds my memories, my body burns a gemlike flame.  
> Somewhere between the soul & soft machine, is where I find myself again.
> 
> Kyrié eleison.....down the road that I must travel  
> Kyrié eleison.....through the darkness of the night  
> Kyrié eleison.....where I'm goin' will you follow  
> Kyrié eleison.....on a highway in the light
> 
> When I was young, I thought of growing old,  
> of what my life would mean to me.  
> Would I have followed down my chosen road,  
> or only wished what I could be.
> 
> Kyrié ....Refrain


End file.
